OF THE WRETCHED MISTAKES I made when first teaching, perhaps my favorite occurred over what is known as the cosmic graph. And because there is a great deal of justice in this world, I got what I deserved.
“What’s this?” I asked, when critiquing a piece.
“My cosmic graph.”
An actual bar graph had been inserted into the copy. Yes, that’s right—a bar graph. What I had intended to explain was that right around the fourth paragraph, the writer must tell the reader what the piece is about—what’s at stake, what’s up in the air, what to value if it’s taken away.
By that time in an essay (and even sooner in a blog post), readers must know at least that or they get nervous, as one lovely image turns into another, and we panic, wondering how many of these fine details are going to be on the test. Sometimes this cosmic graph is the literary equivalent of a pan shot from the movies, where the camera pulls from the close-up scene of a woman crying at a table, and suddenly you see her in the farmhouse, in the town, in the world, or at least where you need to be for you to understand where we are on the planet.
Writing something like “Douglas Manor, in the nineteen-seventies, was a place that even John Cheever might find curiously amoral” might do it, or “Love is in fact love when alteration finds” would be fine as well.
Sometimes a cosmic graph says something direct like “This is a love story.” Perhaps it’s “I never thought I’d fall in love,” or something slightly obtuse like “Much like faith, perhaps patriotism is a delicatessen plan,” or, after several paragraphs describing your mother’s progressive decline “It was Alzheimer’s disease.”
But in short pieces of memoir, give us a cosmic graph, and we’ll have the guide we need to read on.
Rose Byrd says
Marion, this is the most practical, the most specific set of instructions I have read online about appropriate timing of specifics cluing in the reader. Thank you for giving good examples. I actually thinks this works well for fiction and poetry, as well as non-fictional memoirs. You cannot allow the reader to wander in the wilderness too long, or they will give up and go back home!
marion says
Hi, Rose. How kind of you. I am thrilled that you think so. I am, right after being a redhead, easily defined as practical. It’s something I think of in terms of my brand as a writer. I try to leave nothing on the floor. For more on branding, please see this post, and do come back for more. I look forward to it.
RobertJulianBraxton says
This is the “zoom out” follow-on to the “zoom in” of a story I read, probably, about writer’s block where the student of a teacher could not fathom writing the original assignment about her town and, in turn (the teacher was very patient)
– her neighborhood
– her block
– her building
I don’t know if she was writing “with intent” but the thing that set her off was the transition from the whole face of her building to “look up there at the top row of bricks and then pick the very first brick on the top row and write about it” which unleashed a deluge — which, like my writing, is probably going to flood out the reader without my providing the Cosmic graph. Right now I am just pilling up a huge mound of pebbles that I am tossing moment by moment, heading toward ten thousand tweets (if the Beetles can do it, so can I) inspired by the book “Outliers” among many others, especially your books.
Grace Peterson says
Excellent post, Marion because not only is it practical in terms of writing, it’s delving into the psychology of the reader. Lord knows we want our readers to be enthralled with our prose. Great stuff.
marion says
Hi, Grace. Thank you. I am delighted you like it. It really helps to know what works, as well as what does not. Please stay in touch. Hope to see you again soon.